


Laughter and Soft Lies

by theskywasblue



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Apocalypse, Drugs, Episode: s05e04 The End, First Time, Last Night on Earth, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-26
Updated: 2010-09-26
Packaged: 2017-10-12 05:31:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/121339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theskywasblue/pseuds/theskywasblue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The apocalypse is nothing like Dean expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Laughter and Soft Lies

He expected the apocalypse would be...noisier. More screaming of the tortured masses, more hellfire, more...something. Instead there's cricket song coming in through the open window above the bunk, and a stoned angel humming The Doors in his ear.

"Cas, could you not..."

"Sorry."

Cas doesn't have that inhuman stillness anymore. Lying there, Dean can feel the minute movements of his body – toes wiggling, chest rising and falling, he can even hear Cas' eyelids fluttering, he thinks, lashes almost brushing the side of Dean's neck. He's warm, and his body gives off the earthy-sweet smell of the pot they smoked like perfume. Dean was twenty three the last time he got high, the last time he had anyone to get properly high _with_ \-- because toking by yourself, then trying to hide the roaches from your old man afterward was just sort of sad – and the soles of his feet itch.

He shouldn't be so completely, blissfully out of his head, considering they're supposed to be on the road in an hour, but hell, if Cas thinks it's okay, then it's okay. He needs a little buzz to deal with this.

It's all going to be over soon, Zachariah will come and zap him back home, ask him to say 'yes'. Dean might do it too; almost everything seems like a good idea now, even that bright green dragon piss Cas was gulping back before he started licking his way into Dean's mouth.

Absinthe, Christ.

He wonders if saying yes might stop it – if it's better to have it over in one, smooth move, like pulling off a bandaid or slitting your wrists.

"It's already done."

He catches Cas in the corner of his eye, pliant and dreamy, rubbing his stubbled face against Dean's shoulder like a contented cat. Dean's tongue is heavy and numb, so it takes him a while to manage even a simple, "What?"

"I've already lived this life – it's done. Your saying yes to Michael won't change it."

"What do you mean? If I go back..."

"Time isn't..." Cas' brows knit together, and he makes an aborted, flappy movement with his hand that makes laughter bubble up in Dean's throat. "It's difficult – going forward. The past is simple, complete. Not the future. By the very virtue of your being here, this can't be changed."

Dean's stomach lurches, he feels the bunk sway underneath him, "You mean I can't..."

Cas' palm slides up his chest, the V of his hand coming to rest right at the base of Dean's throat, and for a moment, he thinks Cas' might test the theory by choking him, but it doesn't move any higher. "You will have lived it, so it exists. Paradoxically, none of this will exist. The very virtue of your knowing..."  
"Fucking time travel," Dean mutters, feeling his heart miss two beats before it begins slowing back to normal. "It's like The City on the Edge of Forever around here."

"Oh, I doubt we have forever."

Which pretty much cements the uneasy itch at the back of Dean's brain that's been telling him there's nothing good about this mission they're about to stagger their way into. His skin starts to do that prickling, paranoid, _I'm too high for this shit_ dance against his bones, and Cas' rough fingertips tease against his pulse-point.

"I'm curious – did it happen the same way?"

"You gotta be more specific Cas," Dean manages a laugh at that, because _fuck_ \-- seriously, fuck -- he was having trouble processing this shit before, and then he had to go and share the angel's pot stash. What the hell was he even _thinking_?

Oh, yeah -- he was thinking _fucking Lucifer son of a bitch is wearing Sammy to the prom_.

"I'm a little..." he continues, "a little -- you know..."

"High," Cas nuzzles into his neck with what is so obviously affection that it's painful. Painful, and sweet with the way Cas' heavy layer of dark stubble scratch-tickles against Dean's skin. "I know. I was wondering if it happened the same way -- after Raphael."

Dean frowns, mostly at the ceiling, feeling a little prick of irritation right at the highest part of his stomach, like acid burn. "You left."

Cas props himself up on elbow, looks at Dean with his head tilted just slightly, eyebrows in a delicate knot; and Dean loves that fucking head-tilt and how perfectly not human it makes Cas look. He wonders how he hasn't realized it before.

"Really?"

Dean presses the pad of his thumb to the space between Cas' eyebrows, and Cas gives him that aching, sloppy smile. "What were you expecting, man?"

Cas rolls onto his back, does a weird, slow stretch that pops in the spaces between each of his joints. "So this was the first time, then."

"Cas..." his mouth is dry, he wants to sit up, to escape, because _Jesus_ \-- he's either too high to deal with this, or definitely not high enough. He remembers so clearly thinking about it, about stretching across the passenger's seat and pressing his lips against Cas' neck but he _never_ did it.

Cas stretches over him, blanketing Dean's body. He's so light -- all scars and bones, sharpened by lines of muscle, starved and hardened and beautiful. He slides back against Dean and kisses him, deep and sticky.

"At the very least, it was supposed to be the second," he sounds apologetic as the tip of Dean's cock catches his hole. His movements aren't the least bit rushed, just languorous and fluid from too many drugs, and he kisses Dean like they have all night, like the apocalypse isn't washing up around Dean's ankles and Cas isn't farther out from shore, already drowning in it.

"Fuck Cas..." Dean slides his hands over Cas' back, feels the sharpness of his shoulder blades where it's almost like the bones are trying to grow out through the skin, has just enough time to think _rubber_ but not to say a word, because this is deeper, fiercer than before, lube-slick and silky hot; and Cas licks deep into Dean's mouth, sucks on his lower lip, and moves like he really wants it – like it's got nothing to do with too many drugs and taking a shot at the Devil or the universal timer running down all around them and everything to do with _Dean_ ; Dean, who fists Cas' cock and thinks _why the fuck didn't I kiss him?_ sliding his thumb over the wet crown, feeling Cas' thighs shiver where they're gripped around him.

Dean can feel himself unravelling -- a corkscrew of pleasure from the base of his skull all the way down to where he's pressed deep into Cas's body, Cas' cock is leaving lone, wet, obscene smears on Dean's abs, and his mouth shines wet almost raw-red each time they break apart to breathe. When he comes, it's with a shaking breath and garbled words against the side of Dean's neck like a secret. Dean tries not to give in to time, not surrender to his orgasm, but Cas is tight and hot around him, giving Dean little, stuttering twitches of his hips and sucking on his earlobe, and Dean is only human.

They haven't even caught their breath when someone pounds on the cabin wall and shouts "Cas -- we're rolling in ten!"

Cas takes a breath, kisses just beneath Dean's ear, and starts humming softly again.

-End-


End file.
